Dusk and Summer
by Honour Society
Summary: Collab with Dernier Cri. AU: Massie Block was at the top of her game; in the profession of love. But what happens when life turns the tables on her when and she's stuck between friendship and a chance at real love?
1. Prologue

**Author(s)' Note:** Yes, the story you've been waiting for is finally here! From the fantabulous fingertips of Honour Society and Dernier Cri (brownie points if you can guess who this is right now) come this new, utterly fabulous story... As it usually is with us, this story is AU.

**Disclaimer:** Neither of us own The Clique or any brands, people, companies, et cetera, mentioned.

**DUSK AND SUMMER, **

_-A Dernier Cri/Honour Society _Clique _collaboration- _

**Prologue **

"Derrick, _no_!"

Papers scattered as the wooden door of a classroom burst open, out of which two boys tumbled out into the recently-waxed marble hallways of Octavian Academy. Whooping, jeering, screaming, wafts of musky perfumes and manly scents followed, either cheering them on, or begging them to stop.

At first glance, you'd never tell that the tall, strong-built blonde sitting on top of the other dark-haired boy's chest, aiming vicious fists at the dark-haired boy's face was the generically popular, occasionally cocky, Mr. Nice Spice Derrick "Derrington" Harrington. It would come as a shock, if you knew Derrick, that he was punching his own best friend, Cameron Fisher, without holding back at all.

How was Cam holding out, you ask? Very well, surprisingly. Cam, usually the tall, silent type, the one nobody knew, was placing well-rounded bruises on Derrick's face as well as trying to block out Derrick's blows, but wasn't succeeding very well, as Derrick has the unfair advantage of pinning Cam to the floor.

But maybe it wouldn't be so shocking if you had known the true story behind the source of the pandemonium in the hallway. Cameron and Derrick were polar opposites; different as night and day.

Derrick was well-liked, popular, captain of the soccer team, Student Body President, Spring Fling King for two years running, had decent grades and _still _managed to snag girl after girl.

Cam was... a loner. Broody, often seen reading poetry in the courtyard under his favorite oak tree, the omnipresent earphones in his ears always seeming to blast morbid, metal-y rock songs. In fact, the only reason people knew him was because of his position on the soccer team, in which everyone knew was Derrick's attempt to try and get Cam to be more social. It didn't work.

The two, quite toxic pairing indeed. But they surprisingly went well together. They had met each other in kindergarten, liked each other well enough to share a box of crayons in first grade, split ham sandwiches in the third grade when one of them forgot their lunch, and had stayed that way, all the way to where they are now, in eleventh grade.

And now, they were still mercilessly beating the shit out of each other. But everyone knows we mustn't focus on the result itself, but the method as well. So we shall now go back, before the wrongs were said, before the words were misunderstood, before the calm scent of pine washed away the burn of the coldest Summer they had ever experienced.

Before they both saw, and _truly _saw Massie Block.

Cam still remembered the first time he saw her. She was standing under _his_ tree in _his_ spot, studying the scratched letters on the trunk of the tree--C. G. F., and thus claiming the tree as his--her eyes dancing yellow and hints of oranges, it reminded him of the element he both feared and was fascinated by: fire. And fire was the word that most suited Massie Block.

"That's my spot," he had stated to her, gripping his notebook so tight in his hands, his knuckles had turned white. Massie raised an eyebrow at him and smirked.

"I gathered as much," Massie said, tapping the rough bark of the tree with a thin index finger. "I assume this is how you spend your lunch hours, huh? Sitting alone under this tree, spying on people?" The smirk was long gone now, replaced by a rather smug smile.

Cam shooed Massie away from his spot and plunked down on the grass, placing his notebook next to him. "You should never assume, you know," he said easily. "I'd tell you why, but you seem smart enough to figure it out yourself."

"_Seem_ smart enough?" And that was when Cameron Grayer Fisher experienced it firsthand--the flash of her eyes, an explosion behind the glassy amber. "Well, obviously I'm feeling a bit off today, because I'm talking to _you_ right now."

"If I were you, I'd consider myself lucky," Cam had replied smoothly, discreetly surprising the Queen Bee. No one had ever talked to her like that, and she had damned well made sure no one got the chance to. Her retort forgotten, she stared long and hard into his blue-and-green eyes, into the eyes of the person that (unbeknownst to her) she knew she would most probably hate one day.

Well, Massie Block was right about one thing--she _was_ a bit off that day, for her prediction didn't go as well as she might have hoped.

But then the moment was ruined.

"Hey, Cam!"

Massie turned, glad for the destraction, and found herself staring into caramel now.

--

The sun, though high in the sky, was cloaked by dark clouds. Massie tucked her fingers under her arms and blew her outgrown bangs out of her eyes. It was still spring, and there was still a month of so left of school. That would mean summer was near. Glaring up at the gloomy Westchester sky, it certainly didn't feel that way. Wasn't spring supposed to be filled with warm sunshine, twittering birds and flowers carrying their sweet scents with grace and pride?

Not in Westchester.

Her return was something of a surprise to all. She hadn't called, she hadn't emailed, and he hadn't even typed up as much as a text. People assumed she had left, for good. But here she was, standing in the middle of the hallway, surrounded by dumbfounded teens, shocked to silence at her plead. Massie blinked and took a deep intake of breath, she refused to let the thought _This wasn't how I wanted my first week of school to be like_ fill the recesses of her mind, or the painful memory of eighth grade would attack her insides once again. Instead, she focused on the all out brawl happening right in front of her. And she refused to acknowledge the fact that maybe _she_ herself was the cause of it all.

They were idiots, both of them. Massie choked back the rest of her words, forcing herself to silence.But even as her cry slipped out of her lips, she knew it was useless. They were too far gone, and even though she wouldn't admit it, part of her wanted to join that fight; wanted to punch Cam square in the chest and pull at the blonde hair on Derrington's head. Another part of her wanted to shove the two boys apart. A complete other part of her, which was currently the most dominant part, simply wanted to breeze by them, without a care in the world.

Massie closed her eyes as she coolly surveyed the two assailants in front of her. When had friend become foe? What had she missed while she spent the summer preparing for the arrival of Kendra's little bundle of joy? How could one little baby occupy so much time, keep her away from all her friends? Italy. Kendra Block thought that, as with her first daughter, Massie, her new baby should have a chic place of birth to scrawl on her legal papers. Massie had been born in Holland, during one of Kendra's business trips. William Block had lagged behind, missing the birth of his only child.

He died eight weeks after Massie's birth.

_Cam._

_The letter.  
_  
Air slipped through her pursed lips. Her eyes, as amber as they'd been the day she had met the two boys, darted around the room in search of something to occupy her mind. _Where the hell are the teachers? _

Thoughts flipped through her brain. A rabid procession of pictures. Words. Nothing connected. Disjointed lines on a college-ruled leaf of paper. _Cam_. _Sorry_. _Time_.

"Damnit, Derrick, just _stop_!"

Startled, the two boys pulled apart. Rage and hatred flowed eagerly through their eyes; but the lithe brunette could tell something was bubbling under the surface.

Blood dripped from Derrick's mouth; bruises lined Cam's forehead like a circle of lipstick kisses.

"Massie?" A question? A statement? An exclamation? Massie couldn't tell. All she knew is that, as Derrick moved towards her, Cam stayed behind. As if she was a wild animal who had the ability to hurt him. _I think I already did. _

Massie stayed completely silent; she used a chipped, once-ruby-painted fingernail to sweep her bangs out of her eyes. It occurred to her that when your nails where long enough to style your hair, a good clipping was in order.

_Blood. Bruises. _Massie reached into her brown messenger bag (which she'd taken to using as a diaper bag for Mia Avery Block, the newest addition to the Block family, born via in vitro, but we'll get to that later) and produced an ice pack, a handful of tissues, and a cloth. Massie was in the business of love, of matchmaking; you'd be surprised at how many times items such as these were needed.

Love is a messy profession.

"Here." She placed the cloth on Derrick's forehead, covering up an impression that looked startlingly like the spirals on Cam's poetry notebook, and used the tissues to dab around his bloody mouth.

Whispers went up around her like wildfire. _Massie's back. _


	2. Chapter One

**Authors' Note: **Whee! My turn! Everyone who guessed that last chapter came by courtesy of the zany and fab Dernier Cri: bravo, bravo! Reviews make me smile!

**Chapter One**

_A sea of bitterness threatened to swallow her up as she waded in the azure water, soaking her apple-red tights and causing her denim shorts to cling to her legs with dear hope. In that moment, he found such a natural beauty in her and it occurred to him that she looked more perfect now — sleepy-eyed and wet — than she did all made up in designer apparel and professionally-applied makeup._

_"Hey," he said, because that was all there was to say._

_"Hey," she replied slowly, without bothering to open her eyes._

_In the pale glow of twilight, as the sun's explosion of colour subsided, she let the tears flow. It hurt him endlessly to look at the delicate droplets dripping from her amber eyes, but she looked so fragile; breakable; beautiful, that he had to take a step or two towards the angelic brunette._

_She could hear his feet pattering towards her, sand squishing beneath his toes. Waves crackled and crashed against her legs and it occurred to the girl to pull off her tights. Under normal circumstances, as any girl with decency and a boy in the general vicinity would, she contemplated coyly telling him "No peeking!"_

_Pausing, she recycled the idea through her mind. _

_Why did it matter if he saw her underwear? They were just friends._

_Almost as if the universe was feeling prudish, faint shadows played across her thighs, her calves, as she unzipped her shorts, then pulled off the tights and tossed them in a crumpled pile of sand on the private beach's shore._

_She giggled, loving the freedom and shivered in her underwear and airy white tank top. He always complimented her on the off days when her hair hadn't been brushed; she hadn't applied more makeup than a dab of Vaseline on her lips and a quick swipe of drug store mascara on her eyelashes; and especially when she was wearing jeans, a white t-shirt and going barefoot._

_It was a universal truth that guys loved "the natural look" on a girl._

_His eyes — one green, one blue — widened at the sight of her. It was such an intimate way to look at your best friend, but she didn't seem to mind._

_"Come on." A smile played across her chapped lips. "The water's getting warmer now."_

_The boy frowned, recognition of how overdressed he was passing through his differently-coloured eyes. "Right now?" He clarified, feeling like an idiot as she turned, smiled, and over-dramatically rolled her eyes._

_"Yes. Right. Now."_

_He pulled off his leather jacket, faded band tee and, after looking down at his jeans, rolled his pant cuffs up to knee-length._

_He was shy; she was not. They were like fire and ice, but that'd always worked out well for them. Until that moment. When she was in her underwear and he was bare-chested and all their inhibitions had been thrown out the window. Or rather, thrown onto the sand with their clothes._

_"You know," he said, reaching her pale, shivering figure and grasping at her knuckles. "I've never been kissed before."_

_"Really?" She sounded amused, but tried her best to keep her tone even. "Well, I guess that makes me the elusive Cam Fisher's first kiss, huh?"_

_"I guess so."_

* * *

"Ralph Lauren." Alicia Rivera pointed to her own handbag.

"Betsey Johnson." Her long, impeccably-manicured finger trailed across Dylan Marvil's loudly printed tote.

"Gucci." She smiled in the general vicinity of Claire Lyons' sleek black purse. Of course the purse was a hand-me-down from Massie, but no one needed to know that.

"And… Oh? What have we here? A no-name diaper bag for Massie?" Alicia smirked widely, showing off her dentist-approved teeth and setting off a chorus of laughter— Kristen Gregory's nasal snort could be heard distinctly above all other noises.

"You forgot Kristen. Again." Feeling almost…nervous, Massie shifted her weight from foot-to-foot, wondering what she'd done to Alicia and why a giant hypothetical pole was shoved up her ass. This kind of thing usually only happened to Claire when Alicia played this mean-spirited game of hers. And now, just because she hadn't spent the summer tanning and gabbing with them, Massie was the outsider?

"Whatevs." Alicia's sparkling brown eyes rolled so far back in her head they could've easily disappeared. "Let's go."

Massie and the rest of her close-knit circle of friends, who had named themselves the Pretty Committee in the seventh grade and the name had stuck, strutted through the marble-floored hallway. She idly noticed the CAUTION: WET FLOOR signs strategically placed around the third floor corridor by Briarwood-Octavian's creepy janitor. The Pretty Committee loved playing "Guess what he was in jail for?" every time the bald man walked past.

"So…" Kristen had evidently forgot to take off her soccer cleats again, as the light popping sound against the floor was starting to drive everyone mad. "How was your vacation Mass?"

Brushing a stray blond lock away from her glossed lips, Claire chimed in, "Yeah!" Her voice softened. "We didn't hear from you all summer."

A pang of resentment pierced Massie's heart. Claire was the uncontested whiner of the group, always finding something to complain about. When something really struck her however, it was not uncommon to find salty tears stinging her ocean-blue eyes.

Claire blushed and looked away. She rubbed her index finger along the line of her navy blue mascara. Since when did Claire know how to put on her own makeup? Massie frowned at the sight of Claire's glossy, plucked, shimmery, shiny face. It was an unwelcome feature.What have they done to you? Where has your personality gone?

"He-llo? Earth to Massie!" Dylan waved a well-manicured hand in front of Massie's dazed face. Her expression had momentarily turned to stone.

Massie blinked.

"Oh. Uh, my summer. Well, it was definitely different." The ghost of a sad smile passed by. She blinked again; recoiled. "Italy's amazing in the summer. Just— wow!"

Everything had seem so simple in Italy; so clear and easy. Here, it was just a whirlpool of hurt, confusion and three-hundred-dollar blowouts.

Venice was beautiful. That's when Mia was born. Mia Avery Fine. Fine, Massie thought bitterly. Mr. Fine was the worst of Kendra's long procession of husbands. Everything about him: from his lopsided grin to his madras shorts to his Charlie Brown-esque bald head with four distinct blond hairs poking up, weirded her out. More than that, he never frowned.

A smile—whether these smiles were genuine was still to be determined— was omnipresent on his perma-tanned face as was it on the face of his two children; a boy and a girl. The boy was twelve, the girl was Massie's age.

Another thing that bugged Massie about Thomas, Todd and Taylor Fine was their religion. Born-again Christians who didn't let a day pass without attempting to convert Massie. Kendra had already gone over to the dark side.

Kendra's fall-winter collection was purely horrendous. The hemlines had been lowered to the ankles, or at very least the knees; necklines were high, allowing no cleavage to be shown. Or, to put it simply, it was utterly dowdy.Mom's sales are going to suffer all because of Mr. Thomas Fine, his perfect children, and their religion. She had nothing against the Christians, she just wished they would keep their damn religious views to themselves. Taylor was thrilled that Kendra had opted to use her as the model of their new line of tippets instead of Massie, who had flat-out refused to do so until Kendra returned the cocktail dresses back to the racks where they belonged. The ribbed tights, at least! But no. Kendra had found her new vision and was sticking to it.

"So?" Alicia raised an eyebrow, silently berating the alpha (or former alpha; she wouldn't know since her friends were acting like the bitches she never realized they actually were) and Massie felt her fingers curl into fists. "Any new outfits for winter?"

Massie started to bite her lower lip but stopped herself just in time. No. She would not be a Claire. "My mother's gone in a... different direction." Not a lie.

**Eh? (I just had to say that because I'm Canadian. I have never, ever said that aloud unless I was using it sarcastically.) Opinions, anyone?**


	3. Chapter Two

**Dernier Cri says:**

**I'mgettingreallytiredofsayingIdon'town: the characters of the Clique, "Untouched" by The Veronicas, and Cam Fisher. );**

**And it's my turn. Ev'rybawdy put yo handz up in da air. (:**

--

**Chapter Two**

"_Don't even think about the consequence'  
__Cause right now you're the only thing that's making any sense to me."_

Even married, converted, and gaining two step-children, Kendra Block-Fine still held firm to her power over Octavian Country Day school. Until Massie graduated, she would make sure her every whim and orders were taken care of accordingly. After all, when it came to education, Kendra only wanted the best for her daughter.

So it was only natural for her to host the annual OCD benefit in her backyard. Hey family had been doing it for decades, and since it was Massie's last year of high school, it gave her all the more reason to throw as extravagant an affair as possible.

Without breaking any of her new religious principals, of course.

Rich fabrics in deep red garnished tabletops, only the finest tableware were presented, and since Mia wasn't hassling her as much, Kendra even let Massie choose the music selection.

Now, her aforementioned daughter was in her room, fretting. Not curling her hair, checking her eye shadow for smudges or IM'ing her best friends. She had checked her Gmail account approximately twenty-seven times to no avail; her friends seemed to be avoiding her like cheap Marc Jacobs knock-offs.

The red strapless wraparound she was wearing complimented her form and hinted at a sight of cleavage. If she had had her way, she would have abandoned the floor-length dress to her plush white shag carpet and went for the black-sequined mini dress, but with Kendra watching her wardrobe like a hawk, she had no choice but to follow through with the new rules.

As she was strapping on her Christian Louboutins, she caught sight of herself in her mirror. While her makeup was immaculately done, her face was still pale, drawn-out, as though she was just too weak to go through tonight, though she couldn't imagine why she was feeling this way.

_Lies_, the demonic part of her mind taunted. _You know why—or perhaps, _who_ is more appropriate. And you _know_ you're hoping to run into him_.

Okay, maybe that part was true. But no, she, Massie Block, will not admit it.

--

He's standing there, hands behind his back, pretending to admire the ice sculptures of Michelangelo's David and such, while the whole time, he was actually staring at the light shining through Massie's room, wondering if she was ever going to make an appearance.

Needless to say, the rest of the boys that night felt the same way, while girls gossip on and on about Derrick and Cam and _Oh did you know? I heard like Massie did it with both of them and they found out; that's why they're so pissed oh God that slut._

And that was when he heard it, the slow click-clack of heels coming down the stone steps of her patio. And there was Massie Block, dark hair swept to the side, long arms dappled with gold winks, her smile enigmatic.

He raises his brown eyes, appreciatively taking her in, sending as many telepathic waves as possible to her to _come his way_. But no, her eyes searched the crowd almost desperately, and when she was done, there was relief in her eyes, laced with disappointment.

And before he could quite finish studying her, someone pulled him back into the crowd almost roughly.

"Dude, we've been looking for you." Kemp took a long swig from his Pina Colada, raising an eyebrow at the purple bruise on his jaw. "Cam sure whipped you. Didn't think he was capable of it."

"Shut up," Derrick snarled, hands curled into fists. He turned his attention back to Massie, but she was impossible to find, caught in the middle of a tornado of women complimenting her dress, her hair, her new sister.

"She won't give you the time of day," Plovert stated as he squeezed his way between them. "She's so hung up on Fisher."

"You're wrong. She's my girlfriend." Although there was firmness to his voice, Derrick Harrington was beginning to doubt himself, something that didn't happen that often.

"_Saysyou_," Kemp sneezed. He held up his empty glass, and immediately a waitress materialized by his side with a new drink. "Oh yeah."

"So what are we talking about?" Josh asked, completing their circle. His tie had come loose, and Derrick detected a smudge of wine-red lipstick on the collar of his shirt. Josh immediately covered it with his hand while adjusting his tie.

Derrick rubbed his palms together almost nervously. "I need to talk to Massie."

"Didn't you two talk at school today?" Plovert frowned.

"I didn't get a chance to." His jaw was set as he recalled how Massie had fled the scene as soon as she made sure he was fine.

"Well, here's your chance." Josh tilted his chin towards the group of women. "She's making her way here."

But before Derrick could confirm what Josh had said, darkness engulfed them, there was a muffled shriek, and before he knew it, he was bathed in low golden light again.

But something wasn't right. And it came in the form of Taylor Fine screaming, "_Where's Massie?"_

--

Cam Fisher yanked off his tie and ran his hands through his permanently messy hair, trying to hide the smirk on his face. "Sorry I had to go through such dramatics to get your attention."

"Oh, I bet you're real pleased with yourself," Massie huffed, trying to pry the pantry door open. She jiggled the doorknob once, twice, and nothing happened. At long last, she turned to him, face flushed, and snapped, "Okay, what gives?"

Cam simply reached inside his pocket and dangled a key in front of her face. She made a grab at it, but he pulled back. "Not until we talk."

"We talked already," she spat, trying the door again.

"Suit yourself." Cam shrugged and leaned against the shelf in the corner, amusedly watching while Massie banged on the door. But it was no use; everyone was too wrapped up in the auction going on outside.

"You…" _Bang_. "Are…" _Bang_. "Such…" _Bang_. "A…" _Bang_. _"Bastard!"_

"Sure I am," Cam replied with ease, and she tried hard not to think that he almost looked as good in his jacket and tie as he did shirtless. Taking notice of her silence, he said, "Ready to talk now?"

The smouldering look he was giving her was burning a hole in her dress, and she had to look up. _Don't fall for those psychotic eyes, don't fall for them, damnit!_

Every awkward, painful second dragged on into minutes. And without knowing, without _thinking_, her fingers suddenly traced his jaw and his eyelids shut, and he winced. She didn't know whether it was because of the pain of Derrick's punch earlier, or because this was the first time they were in such close proximity since she left all those months ago.

Slowly, she withdrew her hand, and he could finally breathe. Her eyes dropped down to the cold marble floor, and she asked in a voice so low, "Can I leave now?"

But instead of a yes/no response, Cam held out his arm. "Dance with me."

--

"_Are you sure this is a good idea?"_

_Massie rolled her eyes as adjusted his tie. "Of course I'm sure. _I _came up with it." She looked up worryingly at his hair, "We really have to do something about that."_

_Cam scowled defensively. "What's wrong with my hair?"_

"_You seriously have to ask?" she scoffed. Yanking down the rear-view mirror, she said commandingly, "_Look."

_Cam saw nothing out of the ordinary. Just him, jazzed up in a suit, his right hand gripping peonies__ and his left clutching a plastic baggie of assorted sour candy. _("These are Claire's favourites," _Massie assured him._). _"Uh… Am I supposed to do something?"_

_Massie slapped her hand against her forehead and leaned back against the passenger seat of Cam's old Volvo. "Your hair!" She reached out for it and ran her hands through his dark locks, and he fought the urge to close his eyes and lean towards her._

_Because he, her boyfriend's best friend, was supposed to fall for Claire, his best friend's girlfriend's best friend. One complicated string._

"_Is it better now?" he asked softly as Massie determinedly sorted out his hair. At last, she leaned back triumphantly._

"_Much." She nodded. She glanced out the window and smiled dreamily. "It's finally happening. Claire will be so ecstatic." She looked straight at him, her smile still set on her lips, "You really like her, don't you?"_

"_Yeah." Cam agreed, not necessarily talking about Claire Lyons. "Of course I do."_

--

**This chapter is nothing compared to Gabbi's. **

**And I really want to wake up screaming. But the sound is trapped deep inside.**

**I don't know what's gotten into me lately. Ugh. Maybe reviews will make me feel better? /is hopeful/**

_It's made of awesome, Hannah! I don't know what you're talking about. _

_Time to play an evil game of chess. _

_Stay tuned folks, my chapter's coming up next! _


	4. Chapter Three

**Author's Note: **_More Taylor Fine-related madness. More me-putting-off-updating-my-other-fics. Yep. It's Gabbi's turn... _

_Eeek. I just remembered that you crazy Americans say "soda" instead of "pop"... _

_Just so you all know, the first time I wrote this, pretty much every other word was a curse, but for the sake of younger readers and Kendra's newly religious ears, I edited it up into this more user-friendly version. _

**Disclaimer:** Still don't own anything of or relating to _The Clique _or any brands mentioned.

**Chapter Three**

_About two hours prior…_

A single olive floated around in her flat club soda. Claire Lyons' grip on the martini glass strengthened and she wished, not for the first, not the last time that day, that someone would serve her some _goddamn alcohol_.

The open bar taunted her from afar and she wished she had the confidence of Alicia or Massie that would propel her over there and demand in some sultry voice for a Screaming Orgasm, or some other sexy-sounding drink. But she was Claire, and so she couldn't.

"Having the time of your life, dah-ling?" Dylan giggled, clinking her cup to Claire's. Wearing a curve-hugging dress the exact same shade as her eyes, auburn curls tossed into a low ponytail, she seemed much more at ease than any other girl there. Least of all Claire.

"Not exactly."

Any person with half a brain could figure out what she was talking about. Cam was mysteriously absent. So was Massie. Together, they had more history than the characters of _One Tree Hill. _

"Whassup?" Taylor Fine, chestnut hair like a frizzy halo surrounding her head, approached the two girls with a jovial smile on her unremarkable face. Her brown eyes didn't sparkle, nor were they the shade of amber only found within a Tiffany tumbler, but Claire and Dylan figure she would do for a replacement under the circumstances.

"Nothin' much." Dylan shrugged at the same time Claire rolled her eyes and hissed, "The ceiling."

Eyebrows furrowing deeply, Taylor's mouth popped open. A string of possible comebacks flooded her mind — most of which she'd heard Massie use — but none seemed exactly right. She closed her gloss-free lips and merely nodded. "Okay then."

This was what separated her from Massie's world of underage drinking, matchmaking, endless supplies of hangers-on and sequins. Even through squinted beer-hazy eyes, Taylor and Massie were completely different entities. Two different breeds of human.

"I'm just going to..." Taylor's pointer finger drew circles around the crowded front hall, which smelt like an odd mix of Givenchy Very Irresistible and mini-quiches, until her finger landed on the door to go outside. Conversing with non-Christians? So not her thing. She smiled graciously and slipped out the side door.

"I can_nawt _believe she's Massie's new sister," Dylan fake-gasped, drawing a manicured hand to her décolletage, "_Quelle _scandal."

Claire bit back a scathing: _Is that all the French you know? _and snorted a laugh. She promptly drained her glass empty and ambled over to the bar for a refill.

"Juice or soda?"

"Soda." Almost instantaneously, another wine glass of bubbly soda materialized at her side. She nodded a thank-you before heading off to find something to eat. Where were the fricking waiters? Didn't the Block-Fines pay people to do this?

After ten more minutes of awkward pleasantries, FBI-level interrogations on colleges and left-hand-or-right-hand? handshakes, the petite blonde finally managed to get to the pantry. Her unmanicured fingers jimmied the doorknob. Locked. From the inside.

Pre-mature wrinkles creased her forehead and she shook it harder. It. Wouldn't. Budge.

"_Shit,_" she cursed under her breath, slamming her shoulder into the door as she imagined a football player might do. It didn't work.

"Anybody in there?" She said, rapping on the door. She called out several times, to no avail. It wasn't until five minutes of door-jiggling, cussing and manic outbursts passed that she thought to look in through the tiny window above head.

Claire didn't like what she saw.

_Cam._ His shaggy hair mussed beyond belief, his signature smirk playing out on his handsome features, and the tie she knew he'd borrowed from Harris hanging loosely around his neck.

_Massie. _The lithe brunette's elegant, piano player-esque fingers traced the lines and contours of his chin. She looked so delicate it almost distracted Claire from the fact that she was a manipulative, boyfriend-stealing bi — _Except, _Cam wasn't Claire's boyfriend. Sure, she may have spent every since seventh grade pining over the guy, while alternately hating Massie's close friendship with him, but she hadn't done anything. Hadn't acted on any of the animalistic impulses she got whenever she saw his messy hair or mismatched eyes.

Time to turn over a new bush. Or leaf or tree or whatever that saying was about.

Time for Claire Lyons to take charge and make Cam Fisher fall truly, madly, deeply in love with her. _Oh, yeah. _

Only, she needed Massie Block, matchmaker extraordinaire, to help her out.

--

_Claire was lazing around her house when the doorbell rang. She lived in quite the humble abode; not exactly the Block-Fine estate, but she considered herself to be living on the suburban fence. Heck, she even had a white picket one surrounding her home. Straight out of Stepford. _

_She pretended that she wasn't waiting for him, that she didn't flip open her cell phone to check the time before a minute had even passed. _

_Claire Lyons could lie, too. _

_Maybe her outfit was too dressy. Even though Massie Block, the one, the only, had picked it out straight out of her pre-Kendra-going-religiously-insane wardrobe. It was a Kendra Block original. The black velvet pants felt too tight. The sequin-covered blue halter too low. She squirmed and made faces she'd seen on _America's Next Top Model _in the mirror. Did her hair look okay? Was down really the new up?_

_"Claire." Cam Fisher grinned boyishly as he handed her a bag of sour candy and a bouqet of pink peonies. Her favourite! She watched nervously as he took in her appearance and mumbled almost shyly, "You look really pretty." _

_"Thanks." Claire ushered him in, accepting the candy and flowers with what she hoped to be a radiant smile. "I'm really glad you came." _

_"Yeah." He smiled. "Me too." _

_-- _

**A/N: **_Now it's Hannah's turn... Everyone, click that little button! We adore reviews!_


	5. Chapter Four

**The Clique: I don't own it.**

**I got an 80 for my English paper. Frick it.**

**I seriously wanted to scream BOO YOU WHORE at my computer. It wouldn't connect to the internet the whole of Sunday. It was Torture, and yes, with a capital T.**

**There's a line from _One Tree Hill_—since Gabbi mentioned OTH in the last chapter—in here. Sigh, makes me realize how much I miss season one and two. You know, before the show started to suck.**

**--**

**Chapter Four**

"We can't keep doing this," she whispered as her head rested against his broad shoulder. When her words were greeted by silence, she lifted her eyes to meet his. "I've got to go."

"Massie, wait." His hand was gripping her arm, but she wrenched away before the search engine that was his mind could find the perfect thing to say. Anything that would make her change her mind about turning her back on him right then and there.

"What, Cam?" she hissed. "What else is there to say?" Silence, yet again. She sighed and closed her eyes, running her fingers through her hair. "We can't keep doing this, Cam," she said again. "We just can't. If you have anything to say, say it now."

Silence, again and again and again. She looked at him now, in a way, differently, her eyes glistening with tears hat threatened to creep down her cheeks, but never did. "I guess this is goodbye, then."

His eyes seemed cooled with fear, desperation. And then there was nothing. "Yeah, I guess." He adjusted his tie, not even looking at her as he reached into his pocket and handed her the key. She took it without another word and left, her scent still lingering in the lonely air.

--

"_Block, we can't keep doing this!"_

_Massie looked up at his, amber orbs wide with surprise at his outburst. Her hair was swept up in a messy bun, and she was eating Chinese straight out of the carton. "Can't keep doing what?" she asked, her wooden chopsticks tapping against her unglossed lips._

"This_," Derrington stressed, spreading his arms at the mess on the table before him. Love letters, flowers, short notes that only made sense to her were strewn here and there. _"I _can't do this." He sighed and slumped down into the chair beside her._

"_What do you propose I do?" she demanded, casting her late dinner aside. "These girls are counting on me, they _need _me." She shook her head, her hair falling into her eyes. "You may not understand, but in a way, I need them, too."_

"_What is it that you like so much about this crap?" Derrington blurted. "This!" He held up a folded pink note, with '_Sam, meet me later at the steps' _written in loopy letters. "Is this going to help you? Help _us_?" He flung it down onto the table. "You spend more time with them than you do with me."_

"_You don't get it." Massie scowled. "You never do. This isn't about me, Derrick. For once, this is about them. I want to see them happy for a change. See their eyes light up when their crushes appear randomly on their front step with daisies, roses, or even just plain old dandelions. I want to see them smile because someone's paid special attention to them, or because their hands tingle when they hold hands." She paused for breath, her cheeks flushed. "I just want to see them loved."_

_Thoughtful silence enveloped them, and suddenly Derrington was on his feet, and so was she. "Do your hands tingle when we touch?" he asked quietly, his eyes softening._

_Massie smiled, mostly in relief. Another fight deterred. "Of course they do," she replied automatically. She swallowed, and forced herself to look him in the eyes. "Always."_

"_Then maybe we can still make things work," he said, before pulling her close._

**--**

"No," Massie said shortly, before slamming her locker door shut. "I already helped. And you made it clear you were no longer in need of my services."

"But Mass!" Claire stopped short once she realized she was whining in a hallway full of students. "Massie," she tried again, this time with a firmer edge to her voice. "That was four months ago. This is now. And now, I need your help. _Again_."

"I already got you on three dates with Cam Fisher." Massie's throat burned as his name escaped her lips, but she ploughed on: "That's what we agreed on. Whether you screw up or not after that is entirely your own fault."

"This isn't another Will Smith movie, Massie," Claire hissed through laser-whitened teeth. "This is real life." Her eyes softened, and her voice lowered just a pitch. "Please, Massie? For old times' sake."

Massie tapped her nails against the cool metal, contemplating her choice. She could help Claire. Or she could watch her crash and burn. The latter sounded more appealing to her, to be honest. She took a deep breath. "No, I don't think so."

Claire's eyes darkened. "I didn't want to do this, Mass." She flipped open her Samsung and forced it under Massie's nose. It took her a second to realize that it was a shot of Cam and her. Blurry, but nevertheless a credible picture of them in the pantry, standing too close for comfort. "What do you say, M?" Claire asked, mock pleasantly. "Help me? Or this picture gets sent _accidentally _to everyone in freaking Westchester." Claire's eyes darted with worry. "Oh, wouldn't Derrington just be _devastated _when if he finds out about this?"

Massie's eyes narrowed. Maybe the rumors about Claire's one-time fling as an actress was true; she was milking it for all it was worth. It was as if the air around her had been sucked out. She couldn't breathe. At long last, she glared at Claire's Tory Burch flats and nodded. "Meet me under the oak tree after school. If you're late, consider us done."

Claire smiled, carefree and innocent. "Oh, don't worry. I won't be."

As the blonde walked away, Massie wondered how on earth she had lost her one and only ally along the way.

**--**

"_So?" Massie asked eagerly as she leaned outside her window at the dark figure making its way up the ladder. "How'd it go?"_

"_Perfect," Cam said in a tone so flat, Massie had a hard time believing it. "We went to the ice-cream parlor. She squealed at everything I said and laughed out loud at my jokes." He paused on the last rung. "If you could even call them jokes."_

_Massie sighed exasperatedly and hauled him inside her room. "You're hopeless."_

"_Oh, _I'm _hopeless?" Cam sounded indignant. "Hey, I had to climb inside a dumpster for her!"_

"_That explains the smell." Massie's nose wrinkled as she sprayed Chanel No. 19 around the room. "What on earth happened?"_

_Cam rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner and leaned against the windowsill. "She thought there was a kitten stuck in there."_

"_Aw, she cares about animals," Massie cooed. "See how perfect she is for you?"_

"_Yeah. Perfect." He reached inside his bag and threw something at her. "She also told me to listen to track thirteen."_

"_So?" Massie examined the CD with feigned interest._

"_There are twelve tracks in here. Please, The Strokes?" Cam scoffed. "You know what I like. That was so you, Massie."_

"_Okay, so she didn't come up with the CD thing." Massie's cheeks reddened with frustration. "But she made an effort, unlike _some_ people I know."_

"_Hey, I tried. We just don't…" He scratched the back of his head, searching for an appropriate word. "Click."_

_Massie sighed shook her head. "I'm starting to think there's no one out there for you, Cameron Fisher."_

_Cam smiled at the back of Massie's head. "Oh, I can think of a few."_

**--**

"What are you up to, Massie?"

Massie looked up from her lunch, and her eyes promptly turned to ice as Cam plopped the CD case down on the table. She quickly swallowed. "Nothing."

"Oh, really?" Cam asked, his voice oozing sarcasm. "Well, Claire just gave me a Strokes CD. And told me to listen to a nonexistent track fourteen."

Massie groaned under her breath. She should really start quizzing Claire before putting her plans into action. But Cam's voice broke through her train of thought.

"Please, Massie." Cam sounded as if he was almost begging. "Please don't tell me you're doing what I think you're doing."

Massie lowered her head. "I am." She didn't bother to add 'sorry'. What was the point, anyway?

"I can't keep doing this," he quoted Massie. "Seriously, I can't. I tried already, Massie."

"Well, you didn't try hard enough," Massie said firmly through clenched teeth. "I'm helping her, Cam. She loves you."

_She loves you._"But I don't… love her," he said slowly and deliberately, as if it would somehow make Massie stop all the chaotic madness that would inevitably ensue.

"Just give her a chance, Cam," Massie pleaded. He wasn't buying it. Unless… "For me? Please, just give her a chance, for me," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

Clam screwed his eyes shut, her voice grinding a painful dagger into his heart, and he gripped his ever-present notebook until his knuckles turned white. For her. For Massie. She looked so small and innocent, like a child right then. This desperateness… Must have been what Miss Lyons was feeling right now.

"Alright." He agreed finally, gripping he shoulder. "For you. Not for Claire, for you." He let go and walked away, and it wasn't until the wooden doors of the café swung shut behind him that Massie realized one vital detail:

Her shoulder was tingling.

**--**

**Found the quote? You have? First reviewer to find it will get a long review from me for his/her fic, I promise.**

**Anyway, did you like this chapter? I hope so. Tell me about it in a review?**

_**Can I just add that, although I did love OTH's first season, I have no clue what the quote is. Anyhoo. Hope you enjoyed this; don't you agree that Hannah/DC has magic powers when it comes to writing? Review...**_


	6. Chapter Five

**The Clique: I don't own it. **

**Song lyrics belong to The Strokes.**

_**Sigh... I have absolutely nothing of note to put in here. How absolutely pathetic is that? Although...if you like L&O: SVU, I suggest you check out VMfan101's "Whispers in the Dark - Olivia Benson," vid on YouTube. It's made of awesome. **_

**Chapter Five**

It was while Massie was bitterly watching _Lost _(she had no clue what season, what episode, the whole show was so damn confusing. What were their fricking _polar bears _on some tropical island?) that she remembered her matchmaking duties. It was a tough business. Love, that is. She'd written and analyzed hundreds of love notes, perfected the art of gift-giving, learned what girls liked and guys loved... But even though all the pain, sweat and tears that came with the territory, it never failed to amaze her how happy the couples seemed once they got into a pattern.

Divorce. She never understood it. Every time Kendra found a new mogul to proclaim her everlasting love to in a white gown, the elder Block tried to explain about divorce and breaking up. It never worked. While gently brushing her eldest daughter's hair from her face, Kendra would repeat the same old crap about things "fizzing out." Massie wanted that. She wanted regular love. She didn't need spark or excitement or any of that crap. If she found one guy who was willing to go grocery shopping with her, watch their kids on nights she had to work late, watch repeats of her favourite Australian soaps (which really were a million times better than American ones) and tell her she looked beautiful even when she was wearing old Juicy sweats with a greasy ponytail, well, _she would never let him go. _

Maybe she would be with Derrick forever. Why did it matter if his sparkling puppy dog eyes no longer made her blush? Why did it matter that she thought the fact he wore shorts even in the dead of winter was weird, not adorable? Why?

Massie needed answers. She really did. But she'd estranged herself from the one person who could give them to her. The one person whose every _breath _made her heart skip a beat. _Damnit. _She couldn't _— _She wouldn't let herself fall in love with him.

_"'Stop to pretend, stop pretending... It seems this game is simply never-ending...'"_ With a grimace, Massie blew her grown-out bangs from her amber eyes and double-checked the caller idea. Claire. It was strange, the combination of the blonde's name with Cam's song. No matter what the polls on Claire's blong said, Cam and Claire were still a pretty odd mix...

"Block," she answered the phone professionally, cradling it with her shoulder while examining her chipped nail polish in Revlon's Limited Edition Ruby Rush.

Giggles. "Claire...?"

"Oh, hi, Claire. I was just watching _Lost. _What is up with that Locke guy?"

"Um... I dunno. I don't watch shows like that." More giggles. "Listen, Mass, Cam's here!" The blonde lowered her voice and Massie could almost make out Cam Fisher's raspy voice singing to the strum of a guitar. "He found Todd's guitar! He is perfect! And I just want to say _THANK YOU _times a billion! You're the best friend a girl could ever ask for! On that last date, the one where I wore your sparkly blue top?"

"Yeah..." Massie was having trouble getting a word in edgewise, but she nodded as if the bubbly blonde could see her.

"He was acting all weird and...detached."

Big word. "Oh, really?"

"Yeppers. But then! He comes over to my house the next day, kisses me, and we're totally going steady! And ever since then, he's been nothing but pure perfection wrapped up a gorgeous, blue-and-green-eyed package!"

"Is that so?" Massie switched her cell phone from shoulder-to-shoulder, thus missing out on a few of her friend's words, but Claire finished the conversation quickly.

Even more giggles.

"Hey, Mass? Sorry, I gotta go! Cam is too cute! Thanks! Love you! I'll totally delete those pics for you, now!" She sounded the happiest Massie had ever heard, but the thought of having Cam completely erased from her life made Massie's lips suddenly feel unglossed and dry.

"Um, actually," she hesitated, took a deep breath and continued, "Do you think you could send them to my e-mail account? Just so, _you know, _I can delete them myself?"

"'Course. Talk to you later, Massie."

"Bye," the brunette whispered to the dial tone.

_--_

_"I'm pregnant." _

_"I... I can't believe this! You're not just some teenager or something, some _Juno _girl who forgot to use protection! Do you know what this will do to us?" _

_"No. But I know what it'll do to me." _

_"We'll lie." _

_"About what?" _

_"The baby, of course." _

_-- _

Twenty minutes later, Massie clicked through a series of pop-up ads for Viagra and porn to find her Hotmail. She shuffled through her twelve new messages, most of which had Subject lines such as Confused n' in luv or Nedd hlp, ASAP!!111! or, worst of all, SEX QUESTIONS: Plz read Massi!!1 All of them were immediately sent to a file called Matchmaking. As previously stated, Love is a messy profession.

At the very top of all the new messages was one with the subject line Ur Pics from one ClaireBear. She clicked twice and a short message appeared on screen, in Claire's annoying chat-speak. A single file was attached. Called Cassie01.

_Cassie?_ Like Brangelina or Bennifer? That was their couples' name? Not that they had ever been a couple, really, but Cassie just sounded like some random OCD girl's name. What about...Mam? No, that sounded a million times worse. Mameron? Ugh.

And there it was. In grainy black-and-white, shot through the tiny window of the Block-Fine's pantry on an even tinier Samsung. You could just see Massie's pale fingers with tiny red dots from her manicure touching Cam's chin. Tears threatened to overflow, but Massie bit them back. She was a Block, damnit. She was an Alpha. And the number one rule of Alpha-hood?

Never cry.


	7. Chapter Six

**disclaimer: **um. this is gabbi. dernier cri forgot her disclaimer! bad girl! so, um, here it is. We don't own this. Yeah. I'm just gonna stop typing now.

**I'm a bad Dernier Cri. I left you all hanging. :D**

**Anyhoo. My cousin Danny scoffed at this, but HE was the one who gave me three prompts I had to include in my chapter. One: Miley Cyrus' 7 things, because he knows I hate her and would love to see me struggle with that; Two: a him insert, as though he hasn't appeared enough times already in Tangled Webs; and finally, three: electric-pink skinny jeans. OH DEAR GAWD TEH HAWRURR.**

**Currently listening to: **_**I Miss You,**_** by Blink-182 & **_**Vindicated**_**, Dashboard Confessionals, aka my favorite EVER song, trumping all five other favorite songs of mine, in the history of EVER.**

**Own I don't: Miley Cyrus, 7 Things, Perez Hilton, Ashton Kutcher, Nick Jonas, but I DO own Mr. Patches and Daniel Hayden. Mwaha.**

--

**Chapter Six**

_You're vain, your games, you're insecure_

_You love me, you like her_

_You make me laugh, you make me cry_

_I don't know which—_

Massie slammed her hand down the snooze button of her radio alarm clock before Miley could quite finish her nasally whining about Nick Jonas or Ashton Kutcher or Perez Hilton or whoever she was nasally whining about. Cursing Miley and wishing for ten more minutes of dream-filled fantasies, she turned away from the blinding light streaming from her open window, and frowned when she bumped into something so solid yet so warm, it couldn't be Mr. Patches or her wall.

It was five seconds later that she realized that her bed was nowhere near her lavender walls, and Mr. Patches hadn't been seen since last week's battle with the washing machine. So she opened her eyes ever so slowly—

And found herself gazing into clear blue-and-green.

_Oh holy shit._

The first thing she could make out was that she had one insane headache.

And Cam Fisher was lying on her queen-sized bed.

Next to her.

And he looked pretty dang good doing it.

And then she realized she wasn't supposed to be thinking any of those.

She shot up, blinking rapidly, curses and horrified thoughts racing through her mind even faster. Perhaps it was those muddled thoughts that made speech so difficult right then, as the only words that tumbled out of her dry lips were,

"Wha—how—_what the fuck_?" She scrambled not-so-gracefully out of bed, and turned red as she realized all she had on was a tank top and boy shorts. _Oh, relax, he's seen you in far more skimpier outfits…_ taunted the back of her mind.

"Relax, Massie." Cam's voice was heavy with exhaustion. "We didn't do anything bad."

"Oh, and apparently 'nothing bad' doesn't include you sneaking into my room in the middle of the freaking night and crawling into my bed!" Massie shook her head, willing memories of last night to flood her mind, but none came. It did nothing for her headache, either.

"You know," Cam began deviously, "When you put it that way…"

"Nuh uh, you don't get to say anything!" Hand firmly over Cam's mouth, she took in his appearance, her body relaxing with relief. Although slightly disheveled, he was still fully dressed and he even had his sneakers laced tight. "I just—_what the fuck_?"

Cam winced. "Shouldn't we refrain from obscenities so early in the morning? We have school today. Plus, we haven't even had breakfast yet." He rolled off the bed, away from Massie, and stretched. "I feel like waffles today. How about Hal's?"

Massie could only stare at him. "We?"

"Yes, we," Cam confirmed calmly. He grabbed his leather jacket, which was slung over the back of Massie's director's chair and shrugged it on. "As in, me and you."

Massie shook her head. "There's no me _or _you in this picture." She turned away from him, like she had all those times ago, and added under her breath, "Not with Claire around, anyway."

Cam sighed, all playfulness gone. "It's one butt-ugly picture, then." He leaned against Massie's table. "I didn't come here for the hell of it, Massie. If I had my way, I'd be a million miles away. From _you_."

"I don't know wha—" was Massie's initial response, but Cam cut her off. "I mean, of all the people in your life, Massie Block. You had to call me." He made his way towards the window, expertly hauling himself out. "Call me later when you aren't freaked out." He paused, thinking it over. "Or, not. Since I have a wonderfully romantic date with Claire Lyons later," he spat.

Massie's eyes cooled. Her palms no longer tingled. Some small voice reminded her that it was _her _fault for landing Cam Little Miss I'm-So-Perfect-and-_Blonde_, but she disregarded that. "Yeah, I bet you're going to have shitloads of never-ending love. Have fun."

And she slammed down her blinds after him.

--

It was after she was done with Kendra's hidden stock of Martinis, and just as she was starting on the Scotch, that she suddenly remembered. Her teeth ground against each other, her eyes searched the room for a source of light other than the moon shining eerily down at her from the round attic window, and her head absolutely pounded.

But the memory still came, anyway.

--

_There had been beer. And Bloody Marys. And tequila. Oh, the tequila. And after that, there had been more beer._

"_Oh, oh Danny!" The brunette leaning against the black marble counter giggled, gulping down the last of her beer. Her hair was uncombed and pulled into a messy not-so-glamorous bun, her lip gloss had long been rubbed off, either from the random guys she had dragged into the corner of the sleazy bar, or from the long line of empty shot glasses on the counter in front of her. _

"_I—" _Hic. _"Remember that one time when I had this best friend. Actually, a whola load'a best friends, like, _four_, can you believe it? And _I _was their leader." She slammed down the empty bottle and slapped the counter for more. Her strange eyes flickered towards the unopened bottles of tequila as Danny—or Daniel Hayden to his parents and friends who had no idea he worked at _The Singing Donkey_ five nights a week—was too enraptured in the drunk brunette's beauty, immediately complied._

"_What happened after that, love?" Danny asked with a slight Oxford accent, the only hint that he was above all things that happened in the bar. His dark hair fell into his green eyes, eyes that told world an entirely different story when asked about his upbringing. _

"_Oh, some sort'a take over." Amber shrugged and bit down on a lemon slice. "Then I went whoop-whoop and met this guy Cameron—have I told you about Cameron? Oh, I had him once." She bit her lower lip, and she looked as if she _just might_ cry, but never did, much to the relief and amazement of Danny. "Then I lost him, too. My best friend took him away from me." _

"_That's rude of her," Danny noted, wiping down the counter. "Where are you from?"_

"'_Chester," Brunette hiccupped. Danny frowned._

"_That's an awfully long way from here." He glanced at the clock. "And isn't it a bit too late for you to be going out?"_

"_Nah, my mom don't mind." She shook her head, and kept it moving as she continued, "Did you know she got married again? To some religious as shit dude. He has a funny moustache. I don't like him. Nonono." She finally stopped shaking her head. "But I like Cam, though." She set down her booze thoughtfully, and her eyes were remarkably clear for a first-time drunk. "But I can't like Cam. Because I have Derrington." She hiccupped again._

_Derrington? _Horrible name_, thought Danny, but he kept that to himself. For once, he wasn't rolling his eyes or wishing that whoever fucked-up drunk would pass out before he'd inevitably tear out his hair in frustration. This girl had so much to tell, and so little time. Judging from the way her eyelids kept drooping down and the way she slurred her words, she was going to go out cold in a matter of minutes._

"_Derrington's my boyfrann," she sand. "And I just wuvv him!" She giggle-snorted. "We-ell, that's what people say I'm s'posed to do, anyway. Have you ever met someone you want to spend forever with, DanDan?"_

_Danny stopped. He looked up again at the brunette and lied swiftly, "No, not that I know of."_

"_Oh, never ever ever say never." Brunette grinned. "Cuz forever doesn't exist and nobody keeps their promises."_

"_That's not true," Danny said softly._

"_No," Brunette whimpered. "You're right. Cameron kept his promises. He did." She closed her eyes, her clenched fists curling around the edge of the table. "He did." Tears broke through her closed eyelids, falling down her flushed cheeks. She blinked, gratefully taking the tissue Danny held out to her._

"_You're a good person, Danny," she whispered. "Your someone will come." And she rested her head on the counter, eyes closed, calling it a night. Sighing, Danny reached over for her clutch and dug out her phone. Scrolling through her contacts, his fingers abruptly stopped when a certain _Cam Fisher_'s number was highlighted…_

--

_And the next thing Massie knew, she was being carried with seemingly no effort. Out of a car, trudging through gravel and grass and smooth tile and rugs and suddenly she was in her own warm bed, she knew because the smell of Chanel No. 19 still lingered on her pillows._

_Someone was pushing her hair back, making sure her head rested just right on the pillow. "Goodnight, Massie," he whispered. And he sounded an awful lot like,_

"_Cam?" Her eyelids manage to crack open just a little, and there he stood, frozen in his place, eyes wide._

"_You're drunk, Massie," he whispered. "Go back to bed."_

_She settled back, but before he could withdraw his hand from her hair, she grabbed it, pulling it close to the crook of her neck. "Stay with me." She glanced up at him through watery eyes. "Please?"_

_Torrents of emotion passed through Cam's eyes. Hope. Lust. Fear. Pain. Sadness._

_And then, "No." He sighed. "I can't, Massie. I just… can't."_

"_Please," Massie pleaded quietly. She mumbled, fighting sleep, "We'll worry about the rest in the morning."_

_And she was out, her breathing steady and heavy. Cam stared at her for a long time, before cautiously lying down next to her, closing his eyes, breathing in her scent, holding her hand, willing sleep to come._

_It never did. And he never let go._

--

**Um, yeah. I have no idea where that came from, srsly. I was just writing a happy little scene filled with sunshine and rainbows and puppies and electric pink skinny jeans, until Danny shoved these earbuds at me, and my favorite song of the moment was playing (Space They Cannot Touch, you SRSLY need to download it kthx) and I deleted the whole thing and came up with… **_**this**_**.**

**So I went,**

**Me: Hey, is it okay if I force Gabbi to write the electric-pink skinny jeans prompt instead?**

**Danny: Whatever.**

**So yeah, Gab. Now I'm FORCING you to write that prompt. Because, you know, **_**whatever**_**.**

**You get to sleep next to the character of your choice if you review. ;)**


	8. Chapter Seven

_**None of this is ours. I don't own Urban Decay or Juicy Couture. If I did, I would wear too much eyemakeup and track suits every day of my life. Track suits make me feel sweaty; thus I would sweat off the makeup and look like Effy from Skins. If you know who that is, I love you. We don't own The Clique - if we did Brian Jeffries would steal Derrick's spot on the soccer team. **_

_A somewhat nonsensical chapter in which Gabbi thinks about electric pink skinny jeans. Much more than normal._

_Soundtrack to my life right now? "My Skin" - Natalie Merchant. That and Kate Nash's "Mouthwash," sum up me pretty well. Listen to them._

--

**Chapter Seven**

"You know what my favourite thing about summer is?" Claire asked in the raspy, low-pitched voice that widely considered to be the Committee's officially unofficial 'gossip voice.'

Without waiting for an answer, the blonde burst into a controlled fit of giggles. From the side of her cheek, she managed, "All the lust."

Massie bit her bottom lip. Hard. She swore she felt something hot, wet, and scarlet-coloured trickle down her chin. Claire? Lust? She kind of sounded like a slut. Except she was the token virginal one in the clique. Everything about her was pure. Even the Juicy Couture zip-up she sported was an immaculate shade of white - it was pointedly free of all the horse hairs and ketchup stains Massie's clothes seemed to attract.

The two girls were idling in between classes in the second-floor bathroom. Even if they were supposed to be watching a film about natural selection in Science right now - which was on the third floor - they knew the second-floor had the cleanest bathrooms so they had jotted down the stairs for a quick makeup-wakeup.

"Wow, Claire. That's-" Massie almost choked on her words, her lies. "Great. Just great."

Her grin could've lit the entire city. "I know." That was when it all came spilling out of her lips; the dam had broken and there was no going back. "Cam is such a gentleman, you know? He brought my favourite flowers and candies on our first date, can you believe? He's perfection personified. I think I - No."

She paused. The blonde blew out a breath, pushed her feathered bangs away from her bright eyes. After a quick swipe of mascara, she finished the thought. "I love him."

Emotion washed over her like a wave at a beach. _The beach. _It seemed so long ago, back in the last days of June. Back when Claire didn't know Cam existed, back when Kendra was still a high-powered single woman, back before Mia Avery, back, back, back. Oh God, how she wished she could go back.

What would she change, if she could?

Massie thought about it for a long moment, while Claire rubbed off her copper eye shadow and replaced it with a punchy shade of blue-green from Urban Decay.

She wouldn't change a thing.

Not.

A.

Single.

Thing.

"Hello?" Claire pushed the sleeves of her hoodie up to her elbows. "Earth to Massie Block."

Massie pasted the correct type of smile on her face. The type of smile that said 'I'm so happy for you!'

It was as fake as fake could be.

"Let's go," Massie quickly covered. She tightened her ponytail. It was already as tight and taut as a climbing rope, so tight it was making her wish she'd packed the Tylenol. Pain was as good a distraction as any. "We don't want to miss the end of this blockbuster hit, now do we?"

Claire laughed. "That's the Old Massie we know and love."

"What's so 'new' about me?" The brunette shot Claire a look. She stalked out of the white-walled bathroom, almost whacking Claire in the pert little upturned nose with the door.

"Not much." She shrugged. "You just changed, Mass. What - What happened during the summer?"

"Nothing." Massie smiled tightly. "Not. A. Single. Thing."

"Alrighty then…" Feeling the awkward moment, Claire pouted her glossed lips and turned to the matchmaker of OCD. "Should I have worn the electric pink skinny jeans today?" She gestured towards her frayed D&G white denim miniskirt. "Is this too much?"

Massie quirked an eyebrow. "Like neon skinnies would be any 'less?'"

--

__

Her bare feet dangled over the azure pool water. It was picturesque, really. In the fractured reflection, she was all sharp points and exaggerated curves. The slight bump between her hipbones looked more pronounced. Her elbows looked like miniature kitchen knives stuck to her arms.

Chewed pen in hand, she tapped the notebook paper uselessly. Words, words, words. So many, but none seemed just right. She closed her eyes. Soak in the summer. The words used in a radio advertisement for a theme park back in Westchester. She was soaking up the summer in Italy, that was for sure. It was gorgeous here. The guys weren't too bad either.

Dear Cam.

__

Pen poised, she scribbled another short line.

This sucks.

__

Very eloquent, she thought of her writing. With one single strike-through, she started up again.

Hey Fisher.

__

It sounded like one of his buddies was going to ask for Halo 3 tips. She drew a line through that, too.

Cam,

Italy is everything I wanted and nothing I expected. You would love it here. I know. I'm the matchmaker, the smart one, remember? I just know these things. My reliable sources tell me you're planning a visit. It's not to late to book a flight to Cancun or Seattle instead, is it? I hope not. I wouldn't want a good ticket to go waste. Although, knowing you, it's probably commercial/business class so you can bet Alicia won't want it!

Things have become complicated. What I told you before I left? Strictly confidential. Like, you need a higher security clearance than most FBI agents to hear it. Tell no one. Not that you would. You're a good friend.

What do you think about the name Mia? It means sea of bitterness. Kind of appropriate, huh?

From,

your best friend 'till the very end,

Mass.

__

Satisfied, she pulled out the old cream-coloured envelope from the back pocket of the cut-off, pre-ripped, faded with age jean shorts that Kendra despised. ("Why can't you wear something from my new fall collection?")

Then, she slid the letter inside, gave it one small lick and dropped it to the bottom of the pool. Seconds later, it was sucked up into the filter. Hours later, a pool boy with an all-year tan emptied out the filter.

The letter was lost forever.


End file.
